“A week and seven days …….
……is what it would take to read your Father’s diaries Rory and that is per book!”
I can read some cursive writing pretty well, but not all and my Father’s writing falls heavily into the catagory of NOT. The diaries are small, and the writing is even smaller! Many of the diaries are faded with age, and it appears not that well thumbed, so perhaps they were not even looked back on by even him. So, they will be discarded – it seems a sin to throw them away, but of everything l have here l don’t need to have a box filled with an unintelligible language bordering on Latin Martian as well. From the little Suze could translate from the 1964 diary, the year after l was born – it bordered on ‘cleaning flat daily, me waking everyone up, and my Father sleeping in late as he was working nights as a copper.
I remember these diaries from when l was 15 and living in the family home in Woking in Surrey. My Mother was convinced my Father was having affairs and so religiously would haul me up to the attic under the guise of looking at my Napoleonic armies laid out in careful strategies of any battles, skirmishes or conflicts that were being fought that week, and force me to stand guard whilst she leafed through my Father’s ‘keepsake’ trunk, a sturdy beast if ever there was a sturdier beast in the shape of a trunk to be found. It was used prior to my Father using it to hold my huge military forces – infantry, cavalry and artillery, and originally it was one of three. Big brutes measuring 5 feet in length, 2 feet in width and six feet in depth. They literally just squeezed through the attics opening.
But now, they were holding family belongings and one held my Father’s private belongings and of the contents these blessed diaries! I never wanted to be on guard duty for such an invasion of privacy, but Mum was convinced these books held the secrets to naughty inside!
Her complaints of ‘How the hell can anyone read these?” Were met with my own responses of “Well maybe you shouldn’t be reading them then!” She never found anything incriminating in any of them, which l was eternally grateful for, lord knows what that would have meant if she had of done!
However forty years on, here l am trying to read the blessed things with the aid of Suze and we are both as dumbfounded by Tiny Tim’s handwriting as much as my Mother was all those years ago. In a way l am pleased, it is hard going reading through the printed stuff, so do l really need to boggle my brain even further with these miniature versions of day to day boredom as well?
NO! So they are offski!
Suze arrived back yesterday and it was great to have her back home, but she is absolutely shattered with the jet lag, which is hard enough on most people, but gets significantly harder as one ages and Suze is like a walking zombie which is living testament to jet lag syndrome! She is back at work tomorrow and l really do feel for her, as she is falling asleep every time she sits down! I fear she may return tomorrow evening with the word ‘qwerty’ firmly imprinted on her forehead ……….
The 4th December, cannot get here quick enough, and whilst it is no guarantee that l will have a surgery appointment that day, it is at least a step in the right direction to getting this bloody thing finally sorted – well l live in hope!
The spasms l experienced on the 11th – 15th of this month were both gruelling and punnishing, and fine they were eased off by the tablets, but l can only gather that the deterioration in my shoulder has expotentially gotten worse. All this year l have had various levels of pain, but for the past two weeks the pain has reduced me to tears on several occasions. I am getting seriously angry at the Doctors reluctance to issue anything more effective that bloody co codamol. Even though l have requested a painkiller that knocks the pain dead and not just dilutes it, l still get codeine based tablets.
Drs. refuse to hand over Tramadol at my surgery and despite their inhouse paramedic suggesting morphine patches, l have been denied those as well. It is apparently ok for their patients to be on anti-depressants without having depression, but not painkilling tablets like Tram in case they become addicted? Brilliant message, you can be in agony, but we can not have you addicted!
Oh well, only another 8 days after today, l guess l will just have to get used to crying me a river!